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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716222">Seeing Blind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWriterWhoWrites/pseuds/AnotherWriterWhoWrites'>AnotherWriterWhoWrites</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett'>KassandraScarlett</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RP-ed Fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Always Female Sam Winchester, Awkward Flirting, Canonical Codependency, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Raised Separately, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hunter Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Male Dean Winchester/Female Sam Winchester, Man of Letters Dean Winchester, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Raised Apart, Rating May Change, Soulmates, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 10:40:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,654</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28716222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWriterWhoWrites/pseuds/AnotherWriterWhoWrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester should be a respected Man of Letters, but with a dead hunter for a mother, he's an outcast in his own home and largely ignored by his family. So he runs. And gets kidnapped. Then proceeds to fall in love with his rescuer- Samantha Campbell, another hunter and, if the Letters' had their way, the one person he was never meant to meet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>RP-ed Fics [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2105076</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>“I didn't fall in love with you. I walked into love with you, with my eyes wide open, choosing to take every step along the way. I do believe in fate and destiny, but I also believe we are only fated to do the things that we'd choose anyway. And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>― Kiersten White, The Chaos of Stars</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Yes, it's another fem!Sam fic, and yes, we're obsessed with her.)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  The words in front of him were starting to swim together. Dean put his book down and rubbed at his eyes, squinting blearily at the page. When that didn’t work, he sighed and pushed the book away from him, folding his arms on top of the table and laying his head on them. </p>
<p>  He felt his chain hit the table and reached up to grip at the bottom of it, letting his thumb press into the ring that was swinging. He moved his head enough that he could look at it, laying the ring in the palm of his hand. </p>
<p>  It was his mom’s ring, one of the few things that he had to remember her by. It was a simple band, silver of course, with a small pentagram carved on the inside, an attempt at protection that could easily be hidden. </p>
<p>  His dad had given it to him when they received the small box of her belongings; she had listed him as her next of kin should anything happen to her, and as a true hunter, she didn’t have that much to her name. Whatever books she had from her family were given away to another hunter, much to the chagrin of the other Men of Letters, but her few belongings came to him. </p>
<p>  His dad didn’t bother to open it, even though Dean had been a kid when he had gotten it. He chose to ignore it and all other mentions of Mary as best as he could, leaving Dean with more questions than answers. </p>
<p>  The ring was too small for him to wear properly, not to mention that it was more in a feminine cut, so he kept it on a chain around his neck, gripping it mostly in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep. </p>
<p> Sighing, Dean pushed away from the table, leaving all his notes and everything else there. Walking through the hallways, he ignored the people he passed. They'd never really had a good word for him regardless, always passing him over in favor of his little brother. </p>
<p>  Dean felt his stomach clench at that. He loved his little brother- Adam- loved him dearly and had taken to his role as an older brother seriously, but he was under no reservations that they were in any way equal. When it came to it, Adam was higher on the pole than he was. Just because he was a ‘proper’ heir to the Men of Letters. </p>
<p>  Not a half-breed hunter brat like Dean was. </p>
<p>  Coming to his room, Dean closed the door and leaned behind it, taking a deep breath before he continued to his bed, allowing himself to fall down into it. His fingers curled into the sheets as he just focused on his breathing. After a moment of hesitation, he reached under his bed to grab a ragged shoebox. Sitting up, he placed it on his lap and opened it, feeling his throat tighten at the very first thing he saw, the only picture of him and his mom. </p>
<p>  He carefully picked up the picture, taking care to grip at the edges so as to not smudge the plastic as he stared at her face. She was holding him close to her, smiling at the camera as he grinned as well, holding onto her just as tightly.</p>
<p>  She died about three weeks after that, having left with promises to bring him back something interesting that he’d like. He'd spent nights wondering what she was going to bring him and when she was going to come back. </p>
<p>  In the end, all he got was the small box of her things, the contents already having been gone through to take away any weapons and clothes. The rest were a mixed up pile of things that belonged to her- some jewelry, phonebooks, pictures that she'd had of other hunters, and her own personal hunter's journal that was also used as a diary of sorts. </p>
<p>  There was another photo too, one of her holding a baby- a girl with fluffy brown curls and a solemn stare- in her arms. Dean had no idea who she was. His mom had never mentioned any such person to him</p>
<p>  The diary was what he treasured the most- it had her thoughts, her handwriting, little notes of things she found interesting. Small, in-the-walls shops in the cities she was in, the diners that had the best pie around the states. The little stuff. </p>
<p>  At the very bottom of the pile was a little list that she had meticulously kept and added to, titled “Places To Take Dean”. On it was a list of fairs and their dates that they were in that he might’ve liked to go to. Certain sites to see that she thought he’d like or things she thought he’d like to experience. Underneath was a list of presents she wanted to get him, as well as little notes trying to figure out what gift would be appropriate for each birthday. </p>
<p>  There were some notes that he couldn’t decipher, a group of numbers and initials that he had no idea what to make of. He used to stare at that list for hours trying to figure out what they meant. </p>
<p>  He opened the journal again, hesitating before going to the page that held the date January 24th, 1987- his sixth birthday. She hadn’t been able to call him that day and it wasn’t until he read her entry that he understood why. </p>
<p>
  <em>   January 24th, 1987: It’s Dean’s birthday today and I’m stuck in the back of a barn trying to draw out a rugaru to no avail. If it even is a rugaru. I’m not sure anymore. Only have two candles left so tonight's the night to get it, otherwise I’ll be hunting in the dark. Happy Birthday baby, I hope you know how much I love you and I’ll be with you soon. </em>
</p>
<p>  His fingers lingered over the words, “I love you,” closing his eyes when he felt tears prickling at his eyes. He rubbed at them with his arm, taking a deep breath before he carefully closed it, putting the picture between the pages to keep it safe. Reverently, he placed everything back into the box and slid it back under his bed, curling into his pillow. </p>
<p>  He didn’t fit here. That wasn’t exactly a secret. He was tolerated, allowed, <em> permitted </em>to remain only because of one reason. He was John Winchester's son and, by blood, he was allowed to be in the bunker with the other Men of Letters. </p>
<p>  They were adamant about him never taking the vows, never being initiated, never allowed into the areas and books that only members would be able to get into. </p>
<p>  No matter how long he’d live here, among everyone else, he would first and foremost be an outsider. </p>
<p>  Even Adam was being pulled away from him, his lessons being picked up and getting harder every day. He can’t remember the last time he had really talked to his brother over the dinner table. Every time he tried, Adam had some sort of tome with him, focused entirely on it. </p>
<p>  The meals together were Kate’s- John's wife- idea. That the four of them would eat together whenever they could in a semblance of a family.</p>
<p>  John had been missing from those dinners for a few months now. Dean honestly can’t remember the last time he had a real conversation with his dad about… Anything. It almost seemed like John was either avoiding him, or had forgotten that he had another son, too focused on helping Adam.</p>
<p>  Dean wasn’t welcome here, he knew that, he was on the dredges of being allowed and he was sure that it would soon come to a point where he was going to be kicked out. </p>
<p>  He tightened his grip around the pillow at that, burying his face in it as he shook, trying to control himself. He took a deep breath as best as he could, trying to think things through clearly. </p>
<p>  Quite frankly, he didn’t even want to be here. If he was being completely honest, he hadn’t had a place here in a very long time, if ever. This was just his breaking point.</p>
<p>  Slowly he sat up, looking around his room. It was bare bones, just a small pile of books and notebooks on his desk, clothes in the corner, and the few knicknacks that he had. He reached back into his box and pulled her journal out once more, opening it and staring at the notes she had left, maybe not for him but his now. </p>
<p>  As well as whatever monsters she had been hunting at the time, whatever it was that killed her was still out there and unknown. </p>
<p>  He tightened his grip on the journal, breathing heavily, swallowing as he slowly got off of his bed, hands wringing together before he went to his closet, taking out the duffel bag.</p>
<p>  There was one last gift mom had left him, one that was waiting for him in the garage that the other Letters couldn’t get rid of. A 1967 Chevy Impala that he distantly remembered being driven around in. </p>
<p>  The keys to which he had in his nightstand. </p>
<p>  He closed his eyes, swaying from side to side before he swallowed hard and opened his eyes. He took his duffel bag out and set it onto his bed, slowly taking his clothes out of their drawers and putting them compactly into the bag. He went around his room, taking his belongings and notes that he didn’t want to leave. He left the box for last, carefully taking the rest of the contents out and placing them in between his clothes safely, before sliding the journal in as well. </p>
<p>  He grabbed his jacket last and put it on, the only real gift he'd received from John, taking his wallet and all of his savings that he had managed to accumulate and whatever his mom had given him when she’d visit. He stopped at his desk for a moment, grabbing a piece of paper and quickly wrote a note for his dad, or whoever would come into the room next. </p>
<p>  He wasn’t sure when someone was going to come in; he was willing to bet they weren’t going to notice his absence for a few days. </p>
<p>  Lastly, he lifted his mattress, staring at the few weapons he had. One was a pure silver knife, the other was a beautiful customized Colt, with a pearl handle and engraved slide, and a small box of bullets. It had all belonged to his mom, given to him by his dad when he had smuggled away her belongings from the other Letters. </p>
<p>  Drawing in one more deep breath, he took all of it, tucking them deep into his bag. He grabbed the keys from the nightstand and hoisted the bag up, looking around his room- no, just another Letters bedroom- and nodding decisively, turned to leave.</p>
<p>  It was a testament to how much the other people didn’t care about him that when he passed someone, obviously leaving with his duffel on his shoulder, not a single person stopped to ask him or even give him a second glance as they walked by. </p>
<p>  He reached the garage and looked around, feeling his heart skip a beat when he couldn’t see the Impala. He stepped further in, looking around desperately as he tried to find it.</p>
<p>  He remembered that it was black and gleaming, a massive car that held character, class, and strength. When he still couldn’t find it, he felt himself start to shake, gritting his teeth to try to steady himself. </p>
<p>  He looked around a third time and then realized there was something big under a massive tarp to hide from the rest of the world. He walked to it like he was in a dream, hand shaking when he reached for it, grabbing the tarp and yanking it off. </p>
<p>  He almost cried in relief when it revealed the Impala. Still gleaming. Still beautiful. Still strong. He pulled the rest of the tarp off, letting it drop to the ground uncaringly. He went to the driver's side and got in, letting his hands slide over every inch that he could reach, lingering over the steering wheel. When he breathed in deeply, he could smell something that reminded him of his mom. </p>
<p>  Feeling his throat tighten he tried to put the key into the ignition, fumbling a few times before he managed to shove it in. With bated breath he turned the engine on, his entire body shuddering and slumping over slightly in relief when the engine roared to life, reverberating in his bones. </p>
<p>  He put the car into drive and started to inch out of the garage, gripping the steering wheel tightly as the garage door activated as it should once a car approached, and opened for him. He kept his pace easy and careful as he got out of the bunker's wardings and into the field that hid them. </p>
<p>  He didn’t hesitate to get onto the road, driving away from the only home he had known. When he got onto the highway he glanced at the radio, untouched from the time that it had been brought in, and turned it on. Immediately rock music filled the car and he smiled, feeling just how out of shape his face muscles were. </p>
<p>  When he breathed out, he felt like he had shaved off a few pounds of something he couldn’t name. His smile widened, he turned the radio on louder, and kept driving, letting the vibrations of the engine surround him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>  Sam sat on her bed, looking around the room she called her own. Jessica, her roommate, wasn't here yet. </p>
<p>  "Sam!" Her uncle’s voice, gruff and impatient, reached her through the open window. "Daylight's wastin'. Get a move on and say goodbye."</p>
<p>  Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeesh, calm down, old man," she called back. "You drive like a maniac anyway." She stood up to finish her holiday unpacking. The only things left were her weapons. A long, curved silver dagger, wicked and sharp, with Latin engravings on the flat side of the blade, went beneath her mattress. A short hunting knife with a serrated edge in the closet she'd claimed for herself, buried behind a pile of clothes. A custom Taurus, nickel-plated and pearl grips, under the floorboard she'd pried loose at the beginning of freshman year. All molded perfectly to her hands after a lifetime of use. She slid in a first aid box under her bed. </p>
<p>  Sam nodded to herself firmly. The room looked a lot less empty now. She stepped out, bounding down the stairs of the Stanford dorms. Bobby and Rufus were both waiting for her by their truck. "Alright, I'm done," she announced. </p>
<p>  Rufus snorted. "Bobby’s about to start crying his eyes out, the old bastard."</p>
<p>  "While you are surprisingly cool," Sam observed, peering closely at her other uncle. "You break my heart, Rufus."</p>
<p>  Her father was looking her over carefully, then reached into his pocket and brought out a thin chain. It had a pentagram strung on it, Sam noticed, with flames surrounding it. "Anti-possession charm," he said, roughly. "Iron, silver-coated. Had Jim bless it with holy water. Think of it as a late Thanksgiving present."</p>
<p>  "A whole week late?" Sam teased. She reached for it, putting it around her neck. The metal was cool against her skin where she tucked it beneath her clothes and she touched it over her shirt with reverence. "Thanks, Bobby."</p>
<p>  He pulled her into a hug, without any hesitation, just as he always did when dropping Sam off, and she returned it gratefully. </p>
<p>  "Don't get into any trouble, ya hear me?" He warned. "Don't miss too many classes for hunts. And if you get the tiniest bad feeling about a job, you pick up the damn phone. </p>
<p>  She nodded. "I know. You don’t go on too many hunts by yourself, okay? Tell Ellen I’ll call her tonight. And find Rufus a date, damn it.”</p>
<p>  Rufus rolled his eyes. "I ain’t got a death wish to be going on cute little luncheons or whatever you kids do these days," he told her seriously.</p>
<p>  "Sure, sure," she chirped. "Bye, Rufus." She turned to him, tackling him in a hug before he could protest. </p>
<p>  "Get offa me, ya overgrown rugrat," she heard him say, but he hugged back anyway and she didn't miss the extra gruffness to his voice. Nor did she miss the whispered, “Your mum would be damn proud of you, kid.”</p>
<p>  She watched them get into the truck and leave, Rufus driving as recklessly as he always did.</p>
<p>  "Samantha Campbell, as I live and breathe!"</p>
<p>  She turned with a smile, catching Jessica in a high five-slash-hug. "Jess. Your parents here?"</p>
<p>  The blonde rolled her eyes. "Nah, they're too busy with their post-holiday gatherings. Your bags in the room?"</p>
<p>  "Yep. Come on."</p>
<p>  They climbed up the stairs together, Sam plotting how to get Jess out of the room long enough for her to redo all the sigils, wardings and salt lines.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  After driving for about three days, sleeping in the car and spending the little money he’d brought on meagre snacks, Dean finally had to pull over to take a deep breath, trying to calm his suddenly frayed nerves. He couldn’t believe it- he’d actually done it! He’d left, had no ties, no real plans, nothing. Just him and his car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There was a sense of relief rising in him, like he was breathing freely for the first time in his life. A dazed laugh escaped him, uncontrollable and close to hysterics. He gripped at the steering wheel, laughing until he had stitches in his sides, until he started to feel like he was going to cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Forcing himself to get a grip, he took deep breaths, cranking the windows down for the fresh air. As the hysteria faded, he turned to the bag lying on the seat next to him. His mother’s journal was peeking out of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mary Winchester,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the first page said. Dean wondered, as always, why he’d chosen to use his father’s last name as her own, even after the Men of Letters forced them apart. He wondered what her maiden name had been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He reached for it, tracing her name with reverence, before flipping to the last few pages. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heading to Sacramento. YED leads?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She mentioned the YED a lot, Dean noticed, flipping through the journal and skimming. Yellow-Eyed Demon, it explained in one of the passages. The creature, whatever it was, was somehow connected to unexplainable fires in the nurseries of 6 month-old babies.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Well, he didn’t have anything better to do. Dean started the car and went ahead to California. It didn’t take long to reach and almost as soon as Dean snagged a local newspaper, his years of study came in handy; there were demonic omens in this town. Cattle mutilations, crop failure, electrical storms- all here, in plain sight. And it was unusual, Dean knew. Demons hadn’t been so prevalent or concentrated since the 70s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Still, it should be easy. Dean had had the Rituale Romanum memorized since he was a child. It should work on low-level demons.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  A knock on his window made him look up. It was a woman, in her thirties maybe, smiling. “You look like you’re lost,” she said, as he cranked the window down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean wasn’t stupid enough to ask anything of a civilian. “Just passing through.” He gave her a grin. “Unless you’ve got a better offer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The woman’s grin widened. “I’ve got a much better idea, little Letters boy.” Her eyes flicked back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean didn’t have time to panic before she was wrenching the car door open and dragging him out by the cuff of his shirt. His yelp was muffled by a hand clamping over his mouth. Another figure appeared in front of him, a man, also with black eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “We were hoping for a hunter,” the woman holding him said. “But we’re going to have a lot of fun with you too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean’s last thought was that maybe he should have done more research after all, before everything went black.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He woke up tied to a chair, which struck him as overly cliched as he tried to lift his head. “What the fuck?” He mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sleeping Beauty wakes without a kiss,” a female voice mocked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Recognizing the demon who’d grabbed him, Dean jerked upright, frantically straining against the ropes in vain. “Who- what do you want?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And curious too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What. Do you. Want?” Dean asked again. There was no point in trying an exorcism, when she was close enough to punch a hole through his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The woman laughed. The man who’d been with her was at a makeshift desk, setting up what looked like a communication spell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Just some fun,” she said with a shrug. “Kill some people. Maybe get a new body.” She leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “Tell you a secret too, if you want. Dean Winchester.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Stay out of me,” Dean snapped, feeling the urge to lean away from her. “And what secret?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The woman teasingly dragged down the collar of his t-shirt. “Lonely little boy of Letters,” she crooned, her fingers fire-hot against his chest. “What do you know? What do you have?” She smiled almost sweetly, black eyes cruel. “Nothing and nothing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Fuck, Dean was so out of his depth here. Fear bubbled up inside of him, his head still throbbing from where he’d been hit before. “Lady, I gotta tell you,” he said through grit teeth. “I’m not a huge fan of the tied-up-without-consent thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What a coincidence,” the demon agreed. “Because I love the you’re-helpless-and-I-can-do-anything-to-you scenario.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Somehow, he was almost relieved when she punched him, sharply across the nose, blood spurting instantly. The relief faded in the next five seconds, when she didn’t stop hitting him.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  Sam was tacking news clips to the wall- they were easy to take down before Jess got back- when the phone rang. She wasn’t surprised to see the caller ID. “Hello?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sam</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Bobby greeted. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Are you in class? Busy?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Classes start on Monday,” Sam told him. “And, uh… Busy…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You see the news?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah. Demons.” She shook her head. “Bobby, isn’t this a little too much? I’ve never seen so many in one place, enough to cause actual demonic omens.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s weird, alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Bobby agreed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But here’s the thing. You know the Men of Letters?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Pompous douchebags who don’t share their books,” Sam answered promptly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Right, well, one of ‘em contacted the Roadhouse. Said a kid called Dean Winchester is missing. His daddy’s one of the higher-ups, so they want him found stat. Ellen’s got a friend who put out an APB, said he’s been spotted in Cali. Just about a couple hours drive from where you are.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam had already opened up her laptop, seeing the email from Ash. “I can make the drive,” she mused. ‘But don’t the Letters have spells and stuff? Couldn’t they find him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Apparently not,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Bobby said dryly. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What’s the damn idjit even doing out on a hunt? That’s the real question. Rufus is still cursing up a storm about it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Sam grinned- Rufus had a unique way with words. “Alright, I’ll go check it out. If there’s too many demons for me to handle, I’ll call for back up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve got the anti-possession charm, right? Be careful.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yes, sir.” Sam glanced at the low-quality picture of the missing guy one last time, then sent a text to Jess to say that she was borrowing her car, and walked out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It took hours for her to find what she was looking for. That was odd in itself- the demonic omens she’d been looking at for the past week had cleared up. If there were demons still in this town, there were only two or three of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  With that figured out, it was easy to find the abandoned factory plant. Sam left Jessica’s car with runes etched into the hood- Bobby was paranoid about demons and had made sure she knew as much as he did about them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Creeping inside was laughably easy, until she realized there were, in fact, two demons, one standing guard while the other was looming over a slumped figure tied to a chair. Winchester.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam thought fast and fired her gun at one of the demons. The loud crack echoed in the large room, as the man she’d shot clutched at his knee. The bullet wouldn’t do much to incapacitate him, but it would slow him down, and the vessel would still survive. She ran out, punched him twice in quick succession, putting him down for a while as the woman attacked her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   All she needed was to keep them busy, she thought, as Winchester regained enough sense. He was a Man of Letters, he would know the exorcism chant. Until then-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She grappled with the demons, ignoring the harsh sting of pain as nails raked across her shin, ripping through the denim. She was losing, losing fast. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Come on</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought desperately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The whispering reached her ear then. “Exorcizamus te… Omnis immundus spiritus… Omnis satanica potestas…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The demons realized it at the same time she did. They screeched and the woman left Sam, trying to get to Winchester.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  But Sam, kicking the man holding her, joined in the chant, and within the minute, the air was momentarily congealed with black smoke and the smell of sulphur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  For a few seconds, Sam lay on the floor, trying to catch her breath. The skin of her right leg felt raw, probably badly grazed. There was a throb in her shoulder. Nothing broken. Okay, she was good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Getting to her feet, she hurried over the chair, kneeling before him. “Dean Winchester?” She tested, keeping her voice soft as she cut away his ropes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah,” he mumbled, eyelids twitching without opening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam pulled out a scarf, trying her best to wipe away the blood on his face. “I’m Sam Campbell. You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He blinked, trying to focus on her. “You’re hot,” he said appraisingly, then cringed. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam gave an embarrassed laugh. “Well, at least, you’re not brain dead.” Most of his face clean, she took a second to look at him. He was definitely not a kid, probably a few years older than her, in fact. And the picture Ash had sent did not do him justice. The guy was unbelievably attractive, with enviably full lips and long lashes, freckles smattered across pale skin. “Come on, we need to get you outta here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She hauled him to his feet, getting an arm around his waist and his arm around her shoulders. They were almost the same height, which made it easier.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean blinked at her hazily. “You’re really strong,” he mumbled. Then frowned, swaying on the spot. “I think I have a concussion.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Probably,” Sam agreed, helping him slowly move towards Jess’ car. “Let’s get you to a hospital, then you can call your dad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shook his head frantically, almost pushing off her. “No, please. Don’t tell anyone. Just, um… Maybe drop me at a motel? I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Uh, no,” Sam refused. “I can’t leave you alone with a possible concussion, so if not a hospital, then I’ll just stay with you for a while. And fine, no calling anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean groaned as she dragged him outside. “Where’s my car?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The answer seemed to cause him more distress. “No, I… The Impala… It was my… It’s important.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’ll look for it,” Sam appeased falsely. “You just focus on staying conscious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  As she bundled him into the backseat, he scowled. “Not five.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No,” Sam admitted. “Just the idiot who got kidnapped by demons the second he stepped foot into California.” She shook her head, getting behind the wheel. “What are you even doing this far out of Kansas? Aren’t you lot supposed to be cooped up there before your initiation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  A hint of lucidity shone in Dean’s eyes. “Absolutely none of your business, sweetheart, grateful as I am for the rescue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam wasn’t surprised at the answer, but glared at him in the rearview mirror anyway. “Did you just call me </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweetheart</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean blinked at her. “That’s your takeaway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Says the man who worries more about his car than possible brain damage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  For a moment, Dean was silent. “It was my mother’s. It… I don’t have much left of her.” The grief in his voice was palpable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam’s own buried sadness welled up. She had </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> left of her mother. “I’ll find your car,” she promised quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean cleared his throat. “So, I’m Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sam,” Dean repeated to himself. “Sammy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No,” she said sternly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean laughed a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  In a few minutes, Sam was pulling into a motel, where she’d booked a room beforehand. She helped him in, making him sit on the bed. “Painkillers,” she said, handing them to him. “Try to wash off the rest of the blood so you don’t fall asleep. I’ll find your car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Thanks,” Dean called after her, as she left the room.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  It took Dean a few minutes to start feeling a little better. In the time it took his rescuer to return, he’d thought up a few questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Found your car,” San announced as she walked in, tossing the keys to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He fumbled the catch, eye-hand coordination still shot to hell. “Thanks. So, uh… How’d you find me again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Your dad put out a notice about your disappearance,” she said. “I was in the area so my uncle Bobby gave me a call.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  So, it took his dad three days to notice Dean was gone. Well, it was better than what Dean had expected. He’d have bet on a whole week.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Okay, but you… You’re…” He peered at her, trying to think past the throb in his head to find a word that wouldn’t be insulting. “A kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam raised an eyebrow. “And?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean fidgeted under her genuinely confused gaze. “Are you even, you know, supposed to be hunting? Alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam stared at him, then pursed her lips. “Well, I don’t have a curfew, and I’m not gonna be late for my bedtime story,” she deadpanned. “I’ve been hunting solo for a few years now. I was pretty much raised in the life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean was instantly curious. “Your parents raised you as a hunter?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam fell silent for a few seconds. “My mom died when I was really small, don’t even remember her. Never knew my dad. The people who raised me, they were the ones who made sure I knew everything they did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’m sorry,” Dean muttered, hunching into himself a little. He wondered if his mom would have wanted to raise him as a hunter if she could have.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What about your mom?” Sam asked, tentatively. “Was she a… Woman of Letters?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> Dean cringed at the thought. “My stepmom is,” he told her, deflecting. “My mother…” It wasn’t a good idea to tell her. Dean’s illegitimate parentage had been a huge scandal for the Letters and if the word got out, even now, it would be really bad for his father. Dean might resent John, but he couldn’t do that to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You don’t have to tell me,” Sam allowed. “But you look like you haven’t had a good meal for a few days. Wanna order in?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yes, please,” Dean said fervently. “I, uh… I’ll pay you back. Soon as I can. Somehow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Don’t worry about it,” she assured. “We can rest up for the night and I’ll take you back to Kansas tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What? No!” Dean exclaimed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam looked up slowly, gaze sharp. “So, you didn’t run away to hunt,” she observed carefully. “You were just running away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean flushed under the scrutiny. “Can I borrow your phone?” He asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  After a brief moment of silence, she dug into her bag and handed him a second phone. “I’ll get us pizza.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah,” Dean replied absently and stumbled into the bathroom. The phone was heavy in his hand and he stared at the blank screen for a long time. He didn’t want to go back. It was the last thing he wanted. But… But he wanted to find the Yellow Eyed Demon, the thing his mother had written so much about in her journal, the hunt that had evaded her for months. And the Bunker’s resources would be helpful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>   Mind made up, he dialled his father’s number and waited with his heart in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hello?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Dad?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” John sounded incredibly relieved, but the next words were almost angry. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Where are you? Where have you been?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  No concern, no worry, not even a well-intended scolding. Dean grit his teeth through the hurt. “Somewhere in Cali,” he replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, alright, well… There’s a Letters outpost in Sacramento, go there. I’ll have someone pick you up.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There was a pause. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, dad.” Dean hoped his voice wasn’t breaking. “I can’t live there anymore. Not… Not like that. And nobody wants me there, either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What are you talking about?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” John asked incredulously. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s your home too, you should be here.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Really, dad?” Dean said testily. “It took you three days to even notice I was missing. Hell, does Adam even know yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There was another short silence. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean, this place is huge.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His dad sounded a lot more uncertain now. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes, we don’t see each other for a while even while we’re all here.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, I can’t do that anymore, Dad.” Dean shook his head. “And I can’t stay cooped up with the people who took mom away from me. I want to hunt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was a bit of a low blow and John’s sharp inhale proved it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Have you lost your mind? Experienced hunters have lost their lives on that job. You can’t do this, Mar- Dean, just come back. Now.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean hadn’t missed the slip-up, but he shoved the pang of guilt he felt away. “You can’t make me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, I can, I’m your father.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His father took a deep breath. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I get that it hasn’t been easy for you here. But that’s no excuse for running away like a child.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “All I want is to be free, Dad. And we both know they’re never going to indoctrinate me.” He hesitated, then a pleading note seeped into his voice. “Please, Dad, don’t make me be miserable my whole life. It’s all I’m asking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” John whispered. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, Dean, you can’t hunt. Nothing good will ever come out of it. Come back and… I’ll try to be better, okay? We can make it better.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Promise me you’ll let me hunt and I will,” Dean countered. “I’ll learn, I’ll train, I’ll find someone really good to teach me. Hell, you can choose, anyone from your contacts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean, there is no point in you hunting,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” John stressed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That life- it ruins you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I hear you, Dad,” Dean whispered. “But it’d still be better than suffocating in that Bunker.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Bye, Dad.” Dean ended the call. With a decisive purse of his lips, he snapped the phone in half and tossed it into the waste bin. Marching out of the bathroom, he wondered how much Sam had heard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “How’d it go?” She asked softly. She’d shed the hoodie she’d been wearing and was now in a simple band T-shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shrugged stiffly. “I owe you a new phone too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “That bad, huh?” Sam nodded contemplatively. “Pizza’s here. Your nose isn’t bleeding anymore, so eat, and then I’ll check to see if there’s anything that needs to be disinfected.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean reached for the pizza gratefully. “So, I know your job technically ends with rescuing me and getting me home,” he started. “But… Do you think you could help me a little more?” It grated on his pride to ask for help, but there was no denying that Sam was his best chance right now and </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t hurt to admit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam stared at him for a few seconds, barely picking at her own slice. “What do you need?” Was all she asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I can’t go home,” he told her. “No matter what. Think you can take me to someone who could teach me to stay off-grid? And… To hunt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam snorted and it was a complete contrast to all the girls Dean had ever known among the Letters, who were too prim and proper to even forego complicated cutlery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What part of our jobs do you think is </span>
  <em>
    <span>on</span>
  </em>
  <span>-grid?” She tested. “Fake ID, fake insurance, multiple cell phones; everything is illegal.” She licked the sauce off her thumb, barely giving it a thought. Another sharp contrast to what Dean knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “So will you-?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Why do you want to hunt?” Sam interrupted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean squirmed. “It’s… Complicated.” Truth was, he couldn’t explain it if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to bring up his mom. All he really knew was that he needed something different.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam seemed to sense his reluctance again. “Okay. We’ll start tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Seriously? You?” Dean refused to let his jaw drop. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” A thought occurred to him. “Hunters go to school, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, there’s a Stanford scholarship with my name on it, so I’d say yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean choked on his swallow. “Wow. That’s amazing,” he said, impressed. “So, hunting in your downtime; that’s normal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not really.” Sam tilted her head side to side. “Most do it full-time. Some have law enforcement jobs on the side. The younger ones, like me- a lot of them don’t bother with further than high school. I’m only doing both in case I ever want an out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Why would you want an out?” Dean wondered out loud. These guys got to actively do good in the world- who would give that up?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam raised an eyebrow at him and this time, it was purely judgemental. “Because it’s a thankless job. Because it’s hard and it gives you nightmares forever. Because you never know which job will be your last.” She pointed a threatening finger at him. “You want to hunt? Alright. But don’t romanticize it. People have lost their lives and their loved ones to monsters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean narrowed his own eyes at her. He was a little too aware of that, thank you very much. But he couldn’t say it to her. Not yet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What do you know so far?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean laughed shortly. “Sweetheart, I’ve spent my whole life in an underground bunker. Saving people, hunting things- that’s the extent of what I know in practice. As for the theoretical stuff, it’d be easier to tell you what I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Call me that one more time and you’ll wish I’d left you to the demons,” Sam threatened. “And I meant the theoretical part, you root vegetable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sure, darling,” Dean teased and was pleased to see a faint blush on Sam’s cheeks. “Also, </span>
  <em>
    <span>root vegetable</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “They live underground too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean bit back a smile, trying not to let on how much he was enjoying this banter. Had he really forgotten how fun it was to just sit and have a chat? Or had he never even learned? “You’re a bit of a bitch, you know?” He challenged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And you’re being a real jerk, for someone who needs my help,” Sam shot back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The sharpness of her tone suddenly reminded him of his dad. Dean shrunk into himself a little. “Sorry,” he said, a little stiffly to hide the feeling of loss. “So, um… Can I make it up to you?” Because I really do need help and…” What could he even offer her?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam softened, the little smirk fading into something else. “You didn’t get much social interaction with the other vegetables, did you?” It wasn’t really a question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Vegetables? Oh. Uh, no?” He gave a humorless little laugh, thinking of the way the older Letters looked down their noses at him and how the younger ones just didn’t have time for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam shook her head. “Great. So I gotta teach you social etiquette too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Really?” Dean perked up. “So, you’ll help me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yes,” she sighed, but there was a smile playing on her lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Thank you,” he said fervently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She hummed, stretching as she got to her feet. “Just gotta figure out where you’ll stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “With your Uncle?” Dean suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She laughed. “Not unless you wanna freeze to death in Sioux Falls,” she said. “I think your roots will be much happier somewhere warmer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You need to stop with that analogy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Where do you stay?” He asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I share an apartment with my friend in Palo Alto,” Sam said. “And she knows nothing about the supernatural. I’d like to keep it that way. So you can’t stay with me, I’m only free on weekends, and you need somewhere to be settled in, so…” She exhaled heavily through her nose. “Let me check with someone else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean felt suddenly lethargy come over him, the pain pills from before kicking in, along with the contentment of a full stomach. “We can sleep it on, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam glanced at him. “Sure, just let me take a look at those bruises again.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just dropped to her knees in the V of his legs, hands reaching for his face. “Don’t get any ideas,” she teased with a small smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Um…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Her touch was gentle, fingers skimming along the cut on his forehead and sweeping under his eye. “You’re going to have a black eye.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “That’s okay,” Dean whispered. “Chicks dig that, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She chuckled. “Sure. Girls love guys who look like they just lost a couple rounds against a brick wall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She was really pretty, Dean thought absently, drowsiness making his thoughts more uninhibited. He stared at her through half-lidded eyes, noting the sharpness of her jaw and the round cheeks, the perfect cupid’s bow of her lips and the light green irises. And then the look of true concern as she backed away from him…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “Go to sleep, root veggie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean’s retort got stuck in his throat when she shimmied out of her boots and jeans, then stripped out of her t-shirt. Dean caught a glimpse of miles of golden skin before he was slamming his eyes shut. “Jesus,” he hissed. “Warn a guy.” He was far from a blushing virgin, but his experience was also limited to the population of Lebanon. Which wasn't a lot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” she mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He peeked out one eye, then opened both when he saw she was, in fact, wearing some sort of tight camisole and her bare legs were under the covers. She was blushing slightly, but also had a pleased little smile, like she’d done it on purpose, just to get a reaction out of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’re enjoying this too much,” he complained through a yawn, as he lay back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam hummed. “G’night, Dean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Night, Sammy.” He paused for a second. “Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Her reply was lost to sleep.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  The Roadhouse opened up early in the morning. This was alright by Dean, because the Letters believed in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>early to bed and early to rise </span>
  </em>
  <span>adage. So, it was a good thing Sam had brought him here, instead of anywhere else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Nowadays, though, Dean started his day with target practice in the backyard instead of studying obscure lore. It was a welcome change, not losing its shine even after several weeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Right now, he was going through the motions in his head as he cocked the gun, bringing it up, balancing it on his shoulder and taking aim, trying to ignore Ellen’s presence behind him and focusing on the targets instead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Just as he pulled the trigger, a large bang rang through the air and he flinched, shot going too wide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You need to get used to distractions,” she told him, her gun raised to the sky. “Can’t ignore them either, because you need to have 360-degrees awareness on a hunt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “We had earmuffs in the bunker,” Dean grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Good for you, but no monster is going to wait for you to put on your little pink earmuffs before shooting at them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “They weren’t pink,” Dean muttered under his breath, but he took aim again and this time, nailed each shot with steady hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen scoffed. “Sorry, periwinkle blue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean sighed.This was the woman who’d been a maternal figure to Sam after her mother had died- yeah, Dean could see where she got her snark and terrible humor from. Speaking of- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “It’s the weekend,” he said nonchalantly. “Sam coming by?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Should be, unless she’s got schoolwork.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why? Not liking the way I teach?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, ma’am!” Dean hurried to protest. “Just- Kinda been wanting to go on a hunt.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And I miss her.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was another weird thing. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so attached to someone so fast. But there was no denying that spending time with Sam had made his hurt over leaving home much easier. And now, Dean spent the whole week looking forward to Saturday mornings when Sam sometimes drove over to visit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What makes you think you’re ready for that?” Ellen questioned. “Way I see it, you’re a long way out before you can go anywhere near a hunt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’ll follow her lead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “That’s not the issue.” Ellen fixed him with a stern look. “I’m not going to risk Sam like that. You wanna go off, guns-a-blazin’, get your head ripped off? Do it in your own time. I ain’t letting you risk my kid like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean winced at that. He hadn’t thought about how much of a risk he could be to Sam. Of course, that got him thinking about what his dad had warned him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Too many people have died on this job.</span>
  </em>
  <span> At the same time, he wondered if Kate had ever loved him as much as she loved Adam, her own flesh-and-blood, or even half as much as Ellen loved Sam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen sighed, softening. “I get that you want to go off and save the world for some reason, but no one wants to see you get hurt Dean. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean gave her a smile, his homesickness waning in the face of her concern. “I solemnly swear not to hunt before I’m ready,” he said. “Seriously, though, is Sam coming by?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen chuckled, lightly swatting the back of his head. “Yeah, she’s coming. Kept asking about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean did not bounce on his feet, but he did have to bite his lip to keep from smiling. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why it was affecting him so much. Ever since dropping him off at the Roadhouse a month ago, she’d only been able to visit on every other weekend. With Ellen showing him how to handle weapons better, Sam had taken it upon herself to teach him sparring. And while Dean didn’t exactly look forward to getting beat up by 5’10” of a hunter, he’d be hard-pressed not to enjoy the end results.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Alright, so he was more than a little attracted to her. Whatever. He respected her too much to try anything too forward. And, okay, maybe she intimidated him a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Alright, we gotta start prepping for guests, and I need some books picked up from a few towns over,” Ellen said absently, unloading the gun.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Want me to go?” Dean offered. As much as he wanted to be here for Sam’s arrival, he also wanted to help around as much as he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sure,” Ellen agreed, as they walked back in. “Ash has a list of other things we need, get those too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Great.” Dean grabbed his car keys. “See you, Ellen.” He started walking out, only to run into Jo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hey,” she greeted, smiling brightly. “What’cha up to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Running an errand for your mom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Interest sparked in her eyes. “Yeah? Can I tag along?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean hesitated. On the one hand, Jo was great company. On the other, Ellen might kill him just out of suspicion. “Sorry, darling. Think your mom wants you here.” It was only half a lie</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Jo’s face fell a tiny bit, but she managed a fake pout. “Raincheck, then.” She gave him a wave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’ll remember that,” Dean warned teasingly. As soon as he was out the door, he paused for a moment, breathing in the warm air and sun. Freedom still tasted sweet. Walking towards his car, he stopped near it when the sound of an approaching car reached him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Squinting slightly, he spotted Sam’s car. Well, her roommate’s car. She drew to a halt near him, hopping out with both eyebrows raised and a cheerful look on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Where you going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Errands,” he said simply, watching the way she cast a fondly admiring glance at the Impala. “How long you here for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Whole weekend,” she told him, rubbing her temples. “Ready to get your ass kicked again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Don’t have to rub it in, you know,” he grumbled. “Now get out of that piece of junk and into this car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “How dare you?” Sam demanded, fake-righteous. “We can’t all drive ‘67 Impalas. Besides. This is Jess’ car and she’s a saint for letting me borrow it so often.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Doesn’t stop you drooling over mine,” Dean pointed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Appreciation, that’s all. I don’t drool.” Sam settled in beside him. “What’s Ellen been teaching you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Target practice, still. And self-restraint.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam chuckled. “She always knows exactly how to get under your skin,” she mused, then sighed happily. “So glad it’s you and not me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean scowled as he started to drive. “Whatever. At least, I get an extra slice of pie all the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “But I don’t have a curfew and I can go on a hunt anytime I want,” Sam pointed out. “Speaking of, has she said anything about your first hunt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No.” Dean bit his lip as he started to drive. “Says I’m not ready yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There was a short silence, then she shrugged. “If anyone knows, it’s Ellen. Just don’t go without me, I want all the blackmail I can get.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Your lack of faith in me is disturbing,” Dean told her primly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh, I have faith you can hunt,” Sam assured. “I also have faith you’ll fall on your ass multiple times and I want proof.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You suck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You love it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  There was another pause and Dean could see her blush lightly at her own words. He wasn’t better off himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Anyway… How’s Jo been doing?” Sam asked, nonchalant as she leaned back in her seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Uh, good? Normal?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Normal how?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean tried to figure out what she was asking. “Uh… She’s got a weird habit of playing with a knife all the time?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, she does that,” Sam muttered, but there was a note of worry there now. “Anyway, where are we going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Ellen wants us to pick up some books or something from a few towns over. Too precious to risk mailing them apparently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, the last thing we need is a too-curious mailman to accidentally open a Hell’s Gate or something,” Sam agreed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean snuck a worried glance at her. “That ever happened before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Someone did try necromancy,” Sam told him. “Thought it was a joke, until half the cemetery came alive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yikes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Mm hmm. Tens of brainless zombies who wanted to feast on human flesh,” Sam spoke slowly. “Made the wanna be necromancer their first meal before Bobby got there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Stop, please,” Dean groaned. “Don’t make me puke my breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam stayed silent for a moment, then said, “I heard it sounded like slurping spaghetti when they got to his intestines.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean took one hand off the wheel to slap it over her mouth. “I will kill you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She licked his palm, making him let go with a scowl. “And mess up the car? You’d never.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’re a child,” he scolded mildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And you are so easy,” she shot back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean rolled his eyes and turned up the music.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “Um, hey.” Dean slid the newspaper across the table to Sam. “You seen this? There are people going missing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam took the paper from his, reading the article over. “You think this is regular missing people or our kind of missing people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was a bit like a test.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean chewed on his lip. “I think… We might need to talk to a witness to decide.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And who are you to talk to witnesses?” Sam pointed out. “Well, I’ve been meaning to give this to you.” She rummaged around in her backpack. “Your early birthday present.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You don’t know when my birthday is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Just a guess, but I’d say it’s between January and December.” She handed him a brown paper bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean tore the paper open and immediately perked up at the small collection of fake badges in it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “FBI, park ranger, Texas ranger, and a few others,” Sam said, watching him inspect them closely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Wow,” Dean expressed, staring. “That’s scarily realistic.” He looked up at her. “Thank you. Seriously.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam looked pleased. “Well, now if you get arrested on the job, it won’t be just for cemetery desecration, but also for impersonating a federal officer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean kicked her foot lightly. “Ellen’ll kill me before I get arrested.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hypocrisy,” Sam announced. “All hunters have been arrested at least once.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to hold up with her.” Internally, Dean felt a pang of guilt at doing exactly what Ellen had asked him not to: getting involved in a hunt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Anyway, even if this turns out to not be our thing, you’ll at least get some experience in how things go,” Sam went on. “Also, you look kinda young, so be prepared to deflect that. Or work with it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’m 26,” Dean countered, slightly affronted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “But you look fifteen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “That’s out of line.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “It’s a compliment,” Sam explained. “When you’re 50, you’ll look younger.”” he mused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’ll be an old hag,” he mused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam kicked him in the knee. “Don’t talk to a lady like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Lady? You?” Dean smiled sympathetically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’m more of a lady than you are a man,” she teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean rolled his eyes. “Shut up. Come on, we need to get to the hunt.” He got up, started walking towards the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam reached out and snagged his arm. “You got any weapons, hotshot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean nodded. “My Colt. Bowie knife that Jo lent me for practice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam wrinkled her nose a little. “You should get your own. I’ll get you one.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Are there shopping places for knives?” Dean asked, curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Only if you know where to look,” Sam said, solemn and mysterious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shook his head. “Get in the damn car.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “You want me to talk to the witness?” Dean asked incredulously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam met his gaze calmly. “You need to practice talking to people and bullshitting them and your social skills.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, I have a third of that down,” Dean muttered. Steeling himself, he walked up to the house and knocked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam tapped his shoulder with a fake ID. “Don’t forget this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He took it, just in time as the door opened to reveal a woman with lines of exhaustion all over her face. “Hi, ma’am, we’re-” He showed her the badge quickly. “-FBI. We’d like to talk to your son about what he saw of the kidnapping a week ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam brought her own badge out, the notion practiced and smooth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The woman looked dubious. “They’re really sending the junior agents, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Good practice?” Dean tried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She sighed, but let them in. “Just be quick about it. I don’t want him to deal with this anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  They were led to the living room, where her son was slumped on a couch, seeming sullen, barely looking up at them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nodded at Dean, signalling he should try talking to the kid.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hi, Jamie,” Dean greeted softly, taking a seat on the chair opposite him. He glanced at the TV. “Godzilla, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Jaime cast him a suspicious glance. “It’s Godzilla vs Mothra.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Nice,” Dean said appreciatively. “I got a little brother who likes the remakes more.” The words escaped without meaning to and he felt a pang of nostalgia at the thought of Adam.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “The remakes suck,” Jaime said, making a face. “This is tons better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Kid, if I could adopt you right now, I would,” Dean told him seriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, thanks, I like my mom,” Jaime retorted. “What do you want?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam coughed subtly, hiding a laugh, before sitting next to the kid. “We just want to talk about what you saw the other night. You said you saw a monster?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You won’t believe me,” the kid sulked. “No one does.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Try us,” Dean said reassuringly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The kid glanced at his mom. “I was in bed, trying to sleep. And I heard this really weird sound from the parking lot. So, I looked out the window and saw Mr Hansen getting out of his car. Then something grabbed him from under another car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Did you see where the missing car went?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The kid flushed and shook his head. “I got scared and ran back to bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “It’s okay,” Sam assured. “Can you tell me what kind of weird sound you heard?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Um… Like a whining… Growl.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam pursed her lips for a moment, but nodded with a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “So?” Dean asked curiously once they were outside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I don’t know. Not enough evidence, so it could be either our stuff or humans.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What if it is human?” Dean frowned. Do we just… Let it keep taking people?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back. “If it’s too extreme, we take care of it. Otherwise, we leave an anonymous tip for the police.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Has the police ever succeeded?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam scoffed. “It’s rare, but it happens.” There was a short pause, in which she sighed heavily. Suddenly, she looked exhausted. “I hope it’s supernatural,” she mumbled. “Can’t stand it when it’s humans.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “Found anything yet?” Dean asked, aiming a dart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not much, but this county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state.” A quick look showed that she was totally absorbed in her notes. “There is lots of folklore about creatures that take people away at night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Any of them steal cars too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “A few,” Sam conceded. “But none seem to quite match, so… I got no clue.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean threw the last dart and joined her at the table. “Wanna call it for the night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “We might have to end up calling for reinforcements,” she said as she gathered everything back into her bag. “You okay to drive back or you want me to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, I’m good. You could wait by the car, I’ll be there in a minute.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nodded, throwing a half-salute. “Don’t leave me waiting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean waved her off and finished off his drink. When she was out of sight, he took out his new phone and scrolled through his contacts. He still had his dad’s number saved, even if dad didn’t have his. Sometimes, it was tempting to call.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Right now though, he stared at his brother’s name, wondering what Adam must think about him. Did he even know the truth, that Dean had left on his own? Or had dad lied to him? Did he even care?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He sat there for a few more minutes, idly weighing how much of a bad idea it would be to call. Then he pocketed the phone with a sigh and went out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  And Sam was nowhere to be found.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  When Sam woke up, her mouth tasted of chemicals. That would be the chloroform. Coughing dryly as she sat up, she took in her surroundings- the cage she was in, the cage next to her, and the man who was her neighbour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Mr Hansen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The guy startled, cast her a flat look. “Finally awake, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What can I say, I like to sleep.” Sam moved to her haunches- the cage was too small to let her stand. “What’s going on here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I don’t know,” Hansen sighed. “I was grabbed a few days ago. Sometimes, they bring me food and water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>  Five star catering</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sam thought sarcastically. “Know what they want with us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No. When I got here, there was another man. They let him go two days ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What did they do with him? Sam asked, trying to stretch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Kid, I got no fucking clue!” Hansen snapped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh, so you just sat there uselessly instead of trying to figure a way out?” Sam shot back, as she crawled to the locked door. “I can’t pick this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Electronic switch.” The guy pointed tiredly. “But you can only access it with some key. Last guy tried that, didn’t work, so he left. Said he’d get help, but… Guess that didn’t happen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam chewed on her lip, sitting down. “I’m working with a partner. He’ll get here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Don’t get your hopes up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam shook his head. “He’ll come.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  She was right, of course, but Mr Hansen was gone long before he could see Dean arrive. His place had been taken by a nice cop lady and a few minutes later, she heard her name called by a familiar voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sammy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Dean!” She couldn’t help the relieved grin that spread over her face. “And it’s Sam. You took your time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean slumped in relief, clumsily patting at her fingers curled around the bars. “I am never gonna let this one go,” he told her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Beginner’s luck,” she teased.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Uh-huh.” Dean moved off a little to check the lock mechanism. “Did you happen to see Hansen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Uh… Yeah, they opened the cage and he got out.” She sighed. “Dean, I think they’re eating people.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean paused. “Fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, I heard him scream,” Sam said. “So, let’s not jump to conclusions. Could be they were doing something else and it just happened to sound like a human being torn apart. Right down to the meat-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “If I throw up, it’s your fault,” Dean said firmly. “I’m going to look for the keys. Stay put.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He left and Sam pursed her lips. “Where exactly does he think I’m gonna go?” She mused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The cop, who Sam had almost forgotten about snorted. “Don’t ask me. I doubt he even noticed I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “He’s got a one-track mind sometimes,” Sam agreed. “But don’t worry, we’ll all get out.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “So, first hunt, how you feeling?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean paused, staring out the windshield as he drove. “Kinda freaked out,” he admitted. “I mean, you know, monsters I get, but humans…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Worst monsters out there,” Sam murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean hummed in agreement. “Anyway, you ever disappear like that again, I won’t come looking for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Liar,” Sam smiled. Then she straightened, feeling the blood drain from her face. “Shit! What are we gonna tell Ellen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean held up one hand. “So not my fault. You were the one who got yourself kidnapped.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, but you had access to a phone, you could have called her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam leaned back. “So, it’s on you too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I panicked!” Dean defended. “Sam, I’m too young to die, dude, don’t let her kill me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “With our luck, she’ll already have found out about it too,” Sam groaned. “She’s got sources like you won’t believe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was dark by now, as they pulled up in front of the Roadhouse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “We’re so dead,” Sam muttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean turned to her. “You going to Sioux Falls in the morning? Cause your uncle might kill you too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam turned to him. For a moment, she stared at the way the hopefulness in his eyes shone in the light from the signboards outside. “Think I’ll stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He looked away with a nod, pleased little smile on his lips. “Come on. Might as well face Ellen and get it over with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  They entered the bar, momentarily halting at the large weekend crowd inside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Maybe we can sneak into the bedroom,” Sam suggested. “She might not see us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean bent closer to hear her over the din of the hunters. He froze at her words, eyes wide. “You’re sleeping in my bed… Room?’ His lips brushed over her ear to make sure she heard and Sam decidedly did not shiver.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleeping in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> room,” she corrected instead, tapping his nose with a finger to make him scrunch his face up. “You’re in my bedroom here, Winchester.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh,” Dean mouthed. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Before they could take a step towards the stairs, Ellen’s voice rang out. “Samantha! Dean! Get in here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Nice knowing you,” Sam said sincerely to Dean and they went around the crowd into the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “So, anything to tell me?” Ellen asked coolly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “She got kidnapped,” Dean blurted out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “He didn’t call for help!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I panicked!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen closed her eyes and she seemed to count to ten- very slowly. “I should ground you both,” she said darkly. “Did you at least get the stuff I actually sent you out for?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam reached into her bag, bringing out a small collection of slim books, all of them old and yellowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Go to bed, both of you,” she ordered, taking the books. “You’re both getting up early and getting to work before you do any sparring practice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  They both murmured hasty agreements and apologies, and Sam started to retreat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And Sam!” Ellen called again. “Don’t think you’re sleeping anywhere but Jo’s room!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam whirled around indignantly. “But he’s in my room!” She protested. “And Jo kicks in her sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen just glared and Sam groaned, resisting the urge to stomp upstairs like a teenager. “Why doesn’t she trust me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shrugged. “Just sneak into my room if Jo really does kick a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nodded. “Yeah, hopefully. Till then… Goodnight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Goodnight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean disappeared further up the stairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam went into Jo’s room. The younger girl was already there, staring up at the ceiling and playing with Bill’s knife in one hand. “How was the hunt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Spent most of it in a cage, wondering what sort of a meal I was gonna be made into.” Sam changed her clothes quickly, slipping into shorts and a tee before flopping down next to her. “Dean did the hard work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Lucky him,” Jo said, bitterness in her voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam turned on her side to look at her. “Something on your mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She sighed. “You just had to go to college, didn’t you?” She asked, half-sullen and half in good nature. “Now mom wants me to do the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What’s so bad about going to college?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “College isn’t the problem,” Jo explained, also turning on her side. “No-hunting is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “She just wants you to be safe,” Sam said quietly. “You’re the only family she’s got.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I know, it’s just…” Jo heaved a sad sigh. “Anyway… You, Miss Campbell- how in hell did you manage to get kidnapped by humans? Civilians, on top.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam scowled. “Shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And then you got saved by a newbie on his first hunt?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam swung a pillow at her face, as she started to snigger. A particularly sharp smack had her shrieking and Sam leaned over her, slapping a hand over her mouth. “Shh!” She hissed through a laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The door opened. “Girls.” Ellen sounded somewhere between amused and exasperated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam fell back on her own pillow. “You know you’re really killing me here, Ellen- I can’t bunk with Dean, I can’t laugh with Jo-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Please, go to sleep,” Ellen half-begged. “Jesus, don’t you kids ever run out of energy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Alright, mom, we’ll sleep now. Go,” Jo assured. “Goodnight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Night, Ellen.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  After a few minutes of silence, Sam turned to Jo again. “What are you trying to do with Dean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Jo raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Two things: I’m older, and I call dibs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “This isn’t middle school, you can’t call dibs,” Jo protested. “And he’s a person, not a piece of meat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Point still stands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Jo shook her head. “I just wanted to tag along with him. Maybe talk him into a hunt. Not a great plan, but…” She shrugged. “Anyway, you sneaking into his room? Because he looked pretty tired, he might already be asleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You say that like it’s gonna stop me,” Sam said with a grin. Anyway, Dean had given her blanket permission to sneak in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Pretty sure harassing him in his sleep isn’t a great way to deal with your little crush,” Jo admonished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam sighed. “Dude, I can’t even believe that I have a crush on him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Samantha and Dean, sitting in a tree-” Jo’s singing was cut off by once again being smacked in the face with a pillow. “Alright, alright. Look, just avoid the third and sixth steps, alright? And stick to the middle of the staircase. He’s in your old room.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam beamed, leaping out of the bed. “Thank you,” she whispered loudly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The Roadhouse was entirely silent once Sam crept out of the hall. With the meagre light of her phone, she tiptoed up the stairs, Jo’s advice in mind. When she reached the room Dean was in, she hesitated for a second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was weird, right? Weird that she wanted to sleep with him- not even with an ulterior motive, but just because she wanted to feel him close. She’d only known him for about a month.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  What if Dean thought it was weird?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Steeling herself, she knocked on the door once, softly, before slowly opening it. On the bed, Dean stirred, head lifting a little. “Wha-?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “S’just me,” Sam whispered, hovering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh.” He shuffled to the side, creating space. “C’mere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Pleased, she stepped in, closing the door, and climbed in next to him. Dean’s eyes had already closed again, exhaustion catching up. He looked younger in his sleep and Sam couldn’t resist stroking a finger down the side of his face, pretending she could feel the freckles that she couldn’t see in the dark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean twitched at the touch. “You’ll get in trouble.” His words were a bit slurred from sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Worth it,” Sam murmured. “You feeling okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “M’fine.” There was a long pause. “Don’t disappear again,” he said softly. “You’re the only friend I’ve got right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam smiled wider, scotting closer to him. “You’ve got Jo too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean’s own smile was sleepy and tiny. “That’s nice,” he sighed happily, reaching for her. “Be happy with just you though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  His arm settled around her waist and Sam rested her hand on his chest, thinking about how few friends she had too- friends she didn’t have to lie to or hide from. “Me too.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  Sam woke up with a scream caught in her throat, gripping at the bed sheets tightly as she sat up, fighting for breath. Beside her, Dean stirred, starting at the sound she made. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sammy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She swallowed, bringing her head between her knees as she slowly calmed down. “It’s okay, go back to sleep,” she tried to get out, her voice shaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean sat up, clearly awake now. “Sammy, this isn’t the first time you’ve woken up like this.” He would know- they’d been sharing a bed at the Roadhouse for a few months now. Ellen had given up on trying to separate them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam scooted closer, placing her head on his shoulder. “Just nightmares,” she mumbled. “I get them a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Wanna talk about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not really,” Sam said quietly. “Just don’t get why they’re happening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean took a deep breath and pulled her back down on the pillows, shifting gso her head was on his chest. “Maybe lay off hunting for a while?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam curled in close to him, hand on his chest as well. She liked this more than anything- it made her feel safe and wanted. “Maybe. Could just be stress from finals."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Got break coming up any time soon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “After finals. Got two weeks off before next semester.” She still had to decide where she was going to spend it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean hummed sleepily. “Go to sleep. You need the rest. Or I might actually beat you sparring tomorrow. Today. In a few hours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam let herself smile. “You’d need a lot more than just me being sleep deprived to beat me,” she mumbled, lulled to rest by his hand stroking up and down her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean gave a soft laugh. “Sleep.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam smiled, relaxed more and more nuzzled closer to him. “Night.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  It felt like only a moment had passed before Sam’s alarm started ringing, making Dean stir too. It was shut off in the next instant, Sam nuzzling closer to him. Her chin dug into his chest and he jolted a little more awake, blindingly aware of his morning wood.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Ellen’ll be here soon,” he muttered, trying half-heartedly to escape from Sam’s hold.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Her grip tightened. “Don’t care. Warm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I don’t think you wanna die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “You’ll bring me back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “We do have chores.” Dean gave up on escaping, shifting to his side instead to keep his hips away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, come back,” Sam whined, chasing him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sammy,” Dean sighed, but ultimately stilled. Being the little spoon was weird, but Sam tended to wrap around him no matter what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nuzzled into the nape of his neck, leg swinging around over his thighs, effectively trapping him. “What are you doing? Why are you moving?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Uh…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She finally seemed to wake, propping herself up on an elbow to lean over him. Dean, frozen by how close their faces were, watched her open her mouth to ask something, then her eyes flicked downward. A sly grin appeared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Good dreams, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean groaned, closing his eyes. “It’s biology, Sam, I’m pretty sure you learned that in school.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam laughed and pressed closer to him. “Oh, I ldid. You gonna take care of that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “None of your business,” Dean grit out, tensing further.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam snickered, settling again. “Well, then I’m not moving.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean sighed and tried to follow her example.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “You’re gonna love Bobby, he’s just as surly as you,” Sam said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road. “You know, it’s not nearly as flattering as you think to compare me to an old man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “I’m just confused about why you thought I was trying to flatter you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Oh, shut up, you’re impossible.” Dean turned the music on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam stuck her tongue out at him and leaned back, rolling the window down and enjoying the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Too soon in Dean’s opinion, they reached Singer’s Salvage. Dean flinched lightly at the welcoming bark that echoed through the field. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Um, is the dog friendly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “He’s about as dangerous as you are and twice as soft,” Sam told him as she got out. “Rumsfield! Here, boy!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean stood a little stiffly as the mutt rushed over to them, enthusiastically leaping at Sam. The Letters hadn’t exactly allowed for animals inside the Bunker and Dean had never gotten used to them, despite wanting to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam easily caught him with a laugh, rubbing at his belly as he wiggle around. “Good boy,” she cooed at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  As they walked over to the house, Dean couldn’t shake the tiny bit of fear that Bobby might try to convince him to go back to the Men of Letters. After all, he’d been the one to send Sam to find him. But he followed Sam towards the old house, resisting the urge to dig his heels in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Bobby turned out to be a balding man with a baseball cap snugly fit over his head, beady eyes and a stern gaze that softened when they entered without knocking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sam, Rumsfield is supposed to stay outside,” he reminded absently, giving Dean a careful once over. “So, you’re the Letters kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean bristled, glaring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yer daddy keeps blowing up my phones nonstop by the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean deflated, tonguing his cheek. “How is he?” Stupid question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Call himself yourself and find out, I ain’t your secretary,” Bobby snapped, then sighed when Sam cleared her throat pointedly. “Mostly, he sounds worried, keeps wanting to know where you are. Telle me if I see you, I should tell you go to Sacramento.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “What’s in Sacramento?” Sam asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Letters outpost,” Dean said. “Apparently, Dad also thinks I’m incapable of getting to Kansas by myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You know, that’s not far from Palo Alto, so if you wanna break in and do a little vandalism, I’m game,” Sam offered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean smiled, a little dreamy at the thought of pissing off the Letters for just the sake of it. “That’d be awesome, but Dad’s probably got people ready to take me in the second I’m anywhere in the vicinity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, option’s on the table,” Sam assured. “I’ll take Rumsfield back out. Be nice, Bobby.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Bobby snorted, but gave Dean an appraising look. “Any good at Ancient Greek?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Uh, passable?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “S’enough.” Bobby gestured at the small round table. “Grab your laptop and one of the books. Start translating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was good work- easy enough to feel comfortable, hard enough to make the time fly. Sam joined them and Dean kept getting distracted by her fingers twirling her pen, or the secretive little smile she gave him for no reason, but otherwise, he stayed focused.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  When Bobby sighed for the hundredth time, Sam laughed. “What’s wrong, old man?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’ve just about had enough of you two,” he grumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “We did nothing,” she and Dean protested at the same time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Bobby scoffed. “I’m ordering dinner. Pizza?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sounds good.” He got up, then pointed at Sam. “And you and I need to have a talk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam grumbled vaguely as she followed him into the kitchen. “What is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Ellen tells me you’ve been sleeping in the same bed as him,” Bobby said, skipping any preamble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam felt her cheeks flush and tried to rub it away. “Yeah, so?” She questioned, trying not to sound petulant. “It’s comforting. And we’re only sleeping, it’s totally innocent.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not quite</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, thinking about the lingering looks, the way Dean’s lips would brush the nape of her neck every night, the way she always found herself waking up half on top of him. “No sex,” she added anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No, don’t…” Bobby got a pinched look on his face. “I never wanna hear that damned word outta your mouth, got it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam blinked, then felt a slow smile appear. “You mean, s-e-x? 'Cause, uh, Bobby… I’m an adult, you know that right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Bobby’s exasperation turned find. “Yeah, idjit, I know.” He shook his head, looking away from her and patting her cheek clumsily in the same breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam gave him a quick hug. “Don’t worry. Dean’s just… I like him,” she admitted. “I like him a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, I got that,” Bobby sighed. “But ya gotta be careful. Letters and hunters… Not likely to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I know.” Sam nodded. Dean hadn’t said anything, but she had her suspicions about his mother. “But he’s not a Man of Letters, he isn’t going to be. He’s one of us now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Let’s hope it works out.” Bobby paused, peering out the window. “You know, your momma used to drive a ‘67 Impala.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam looked out too, where the car gleamed in the evening light. “Really? Huh.” She smiled softly. “Maybe that’s why I like this one so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Bobby hummed. “Alright, go back to your boy. Early dinner and then bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, yeah.” Sam went back to the living room. “Bobby’s ordering food,” she told Dean, who’d moved to the couch. She flopped down next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Did you tell him we’re going to that cabin you mentioned next weekend?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, he knows. It’s Rufus’, he’d have known before we decided.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Are we meeting him there?” Dean asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Nope. Just you and me and the quiet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean ducked his head, as if hiding a smile. “Sounds good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Before Sam could agree, Bobby poked his head in. “Dean, you’re sleeping on the couch. No arguments.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean turned red, but Sam sputtered. “What- why?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Bobby disappeared without an answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I don’t think he trusts us the way Ellen does,” Dean told her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam huffed, a little offended. “No, he doesn’t, even though I just told him we’re…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean had a worried look on his face. “You could tell him about your nightmares,” he suggested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She shook her head at that. “Not yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean pursed his lips. “You wanna tell me?” He tried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She found she actually did.  “I keep seeing my roommate die in a fire.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean did a visible double take. “That’s specific… A fire? You got any trauma related to that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No. The dark, yes. Drowning, yes. ELectricity, yes.” She sighed, leaning into Dean’s side. “Fire, no. Or… Not yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Huh.” Dean ran his fingers through her hair. “Anything else?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I can never save her,” Sam said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I think you need to talk to someone,” Dean said. “In the bunker, I remember reading this book on how psychic visions start from dreams.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam moved a little, looking at him askance. “Dude… No one in my family’s ever been psychic. Far as I know. My mom was born into a pureblood hunting family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “But you can’t know about your dad,” Dean pointed out. “And… Not all psychics inherit their powers. Trust me on this, I got a good memory for things that interest me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam stared, feeling a little sick. “I can’t be psychic,” she protested weakly. “That’s… That would… Jess doesn’t deserve that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hey, maybe I’m wrong,” Dean assured. “Look, let’s give it a week or so. If they don’t stop…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam rested her head on his shoulder again. For a while, they sat in silence. “Bobby said my mom used to drive the same car as yours.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “They’re classics,” Dean agreed. “”Your mom sounds like she had awesome taste.” He paused for a moment. “How old were you, when she…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “6 months,” Sam said dryly. “She went on a hunt and never came back. Couldn’t find any trace of her- clothes, weapons, the car.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No one knows how my mom died either,” Dean confided. “I was 4. They just found her in a barn, where she had no apparent reason to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam turned a little, wrapping an arm around his middle. “I’m sorry. But Bobby tells me that maybe it’s better that I don’t know. Says it would have just made me angry, want revenge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I did want revenge,” Dean said. “It’s what I was doing in California.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You still want it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He shrugged. “There’s nothing to go on. Her diary mentions she was tracking something. She didn’t even know what it was, just nicknamed it YED.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “YED,” Sam repeated. “‘S not ringing any bells. Wanna ask Bobby?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nodded in understanding</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “This the place?” Dean asked as a quaint cabin came into view.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yep.” Sam got out first, stretching as she looked around. “Alright, we’ve got one weekend, so let's hurry up and get our work done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean joined her, handing over her backpack. “Lead the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam shouldered the bag, starting to walk inside. “Rufus wants to start storing a bunch of stuff here, sort a halfway house, or a safe place. So, we just gotta make sure it’s all in good condition, fix up what isn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean took upstairs, as Sam wandered into the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Do you know if we can get roofing supplies in town?” Dean’s voice reached her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hardware store, yeah,” she called back. “Duck when you get to the bathroom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Gross.” They met back at the foot of the stairs. “Damage is minimal upstairs, shouldn’t take us longer than till tomorrow evening to get it all done.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam sighed. “Rufus is exhorting us for free work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Age must have gotten to him,” Dean suggested. “Tell him that next time you see him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah. Alright, let’s get to town and get whatever we need and get to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Drive.” He threw her the keys.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam caught them and grinned. “Trusting me behind the wheel?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Taking a risk,” he corrected. “Scratch her and I’ll make you fix the house all by yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, I’d never hurt such a beautiful lady,” Sam promised, running her fingers over the sleek metal. “Now, come on. Sooner we finish the work, sooner we can get into the lake behind the house.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  It took exactly as long as they’d expected and, by Sunday evening, the house was in good shape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean went out to get pizza and beers. Somehow, when he came back and went to the lake behind the cabin, he wasn’t surprised to find Sam dressed in her shorts and one of his shirts, the hem reaching halfway to her knees, unbuttoned to reveal the black bra, a toned stomach and gold-tanned skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hey,” she greeted, smiling up at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean gave her a quick once-over, then closed his eyes for a second longer than necessary. “Hi. Here you go.” He tossed her a beer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  They sat in silence, side-by-side but not touching. Dean looked up at the star-studded sky and wondered if he’d ever thought he’d be half as happy as he was right now- content, tipsy, not alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  At the same time, he couldn’t ignore how something like anticipation was curling in his gut, steadily growing every moment. He felt antsy, nervous, like something was about to happen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Wanna swim?” Sam asked, hushed in the calmness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Is it a good idea to swim drunk?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “One way to find out.” Sam got to her feet and, before he could argue, stripped off the shirt and shorts, giving him a quick wink in challenge. “Coming?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Well, fuck, if that’s the way they were doing this…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean stood too, pulling his own t-shirt off. “Last one in is chicken,” he said quickly, kicking his jeans off to the side, and jumped in without missing a beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The freezing water rushed over his head, muffling Sam’s yelp of outrage. When he came back up, she was floating next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You cheated,” she accused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And?” Dean rolled his eyes, diving under again to swim circles in the dark.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam disappeared from view for a second and they spent several minutes just splashing each other, their laughter echoing in the quiet of the woods.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “It’s pretty cold actually,” Dean said when they called a silent truce, just treading water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam scoffed, dragging wet strands of hair out of her eyes. “Give it a few more minutes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean stared at her, alcohol loosening his tongue and the drop of water dotting Sam’s lower lip making him lose his mind. “There are quicker ways to warm up,” he murmured, a little joking, but mostly not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The atmosphere changed in a second. They’d drifted closer, the water almost still between them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam’s eyes fixed on him with intent. “Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean kissed her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He’d expected it, but was still unexplainably pleased when Sam sighed into his mouth, arms wrapping his shoulders almost lazily, the kiss smooth and slippery from the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “This okay?” Dean thought to ask, breaking away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She didn’t let him go too far, hints of a smile flickering on her lips. “More than,” she assured, kissing him again, wrapping her legs around his waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean gave a quiet groan. "Gonna be the death of me," he accused, finding her carotid and biting sharply over the thrumming pulse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  "That's the plan," Sam agreed breathlessly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Shut up.” He kissed her again, unable to get enough of the lingering taste of alcohol on her tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam bit his lip in retaliation, then immediately soothed the sting. “Wanna get out of the water?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean hummed, barely letting go of her as they swam to solid ground, feeling drunk on more than just the beer. As their feet touched solid ground, Sam stayed glued to his front, sealing their lips together again and wrapping herself around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He stumbled slightly, then shifted his grip to the backs of her thighs. “Hold on… Hold on… Sweetheart,” he mumbled between kisses, starting to walk back towards the cabin. “Don’t… Wanna… Get cold.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  As if on cue, the wind blew and Sam shivered, tucking her face into his neck. “Good idea,” she agreed, voice shaking. “Call me that again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  They reached inside and Dean shut the door, grinning as he bracketed her against the wood. “Sweetheart?” He repeated, letting go so she could stand on her own. “You like that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He bit her jaw and she hissed a breath, hips jerking into his. “Yeah,” she said, hands wandering to tug at his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean held on to her waist, walking backwards with her to the small couch. She straddled him easily, knees tight around his hips. Her hands drifted down his chest, a look of delighted wickedness on her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Ellen keeps you in shape.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He made a face. “Please, don’t talk about Ellen </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sammy.” He tip-toed his fingers up her ribs, skirting past the swell of her breasts to tangle his hands in her wet hair, pulling her back down for a kiss.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She let herself be moved, reaching back to unhook her bra and moaning into his mouth when he thumbed her nipples gently, more testing her reactions than anything else. Her hands fumbled for his boxers and he caught them, forcing them behind to the small of her back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Fuck, Dean,” she half-whined, eyes almost black when he broke away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean pressed a kiss to her sternum, then worked his way up her chest, licking away the remaining drops of water. “We should probably get to sleep,” he pondered, in between kitten licks and nips at her skin. “Long drive tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Fuck you, Dean, don’t tease me,” Sam gasped, back arching as she visibly fought back the urge to free her hands and maneuver his mouth to where she wanted it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’d deserve it though,” Dean pointed out, sucking a bruise into her collarbones. “S’not like you haven’t been teasing me all this time. With the sparring and stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam grinned smugly, even as she rocked her hips helplessly against his. “I had to make it interesting. Now, please, Dean…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean let her hands go, framing her face instead and breathing her in. “We’re drunk,” he said quietly, kissing her and tasting the beers they’d shared. “And we don’t have anything here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam looked like she wanted to protest, but relaxed abruptly, laying her head on his shoulder. “I’m okay with just this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean tucked his chin over her shoulder. “Yeah, me too.” He was almost surprised by how much he meant it. “Let’s just… Let’s go to sleep, okay? We </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>drunk, you’ve been exhausted and… Go to sleep, Sammy. We can talk about this later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam sighed deeply, shifting into a more comfortable position but staying on his lap. Dean reached for the afghan draped over the back of the couch, wrapping it around the both of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Despite being half-hard, despite being able to feel her arousal… Sleep came easily to Dean.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  Sam woke slowly to a pounding head, a dry mouth, and a warm body wrapped around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Ugh,” she groaned, pressing her face into Dean’s chest. “Drinking is good. Morning is not.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean laughed, but it sounded off. Sam peeked one eye open, vision feeling with the silver ring that Dean wore on a chain. “You okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah,” he answered promptly. “Just… Get offa me, you koala. I need Advil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam tightened her hold. “So carry me there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Leech,” he grumbled. “I’ll drop you on the floor, Sammy, I swear to god. I don’t have the motor control to walk myself right now, let alone carry a grown-ass human being.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam pouted, but let him move away, tucking the afghan around her more tightly. She thought she felt Dean staring at her but when she opened her eyes again, he was already walking away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  When he reappeared, she was mildly surprised to see him dressed. He tossed her the bottle of pills through, and she dry-swallowed two, watching him move about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Where do you want to go?” He asked. “Back to the Roadhouse or straight to Stanford?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Stanford,” Sam decided. “Break’s over, might as well study.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Mm hmm.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam got to her feet, stretching. She almost smirked at the way Dean’s eyes flitted over her form, but then he closed his eyes, something pained flashing over his features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Get dressed, slowpoke,” he said quickly. “I’ll be in the car.” He practically ran out, bag slung over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  A bad feeling settled into her lower stomach and she got ready with trepidation before joining Dean in the car. “Is… Everything alright?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I don’t know,” Dean said softly, staring out the windshield.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Hey.” Sam reached for his hand. “Talk to me, De-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean flinched at her touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam’s chest felt tight. “Did I cross a line last night?” She asked, feeling sick.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “No!” Dean exclaimed. “No, not you, god. I just…” He bit his lip, looking away from her again. “I don’t know… I need to think.. I have to figure out… If I can do this… With you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Hurt curled up Sam’s throat, sharp and stinging.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Something must have showed on her face, because in the next second, Dean was reaching for her. “No, sweethe- Sam… It’s not you, I swear, it’s-” He cut himself off, fingers an inch away from her cheek.  “Sam, you gotta- I just need time. Please,” he pleaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Okay,” Sam agreed, a little numb with the way self-doubt ran rampant inside of her. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Sam…” Dean slumped back in his seat. “I’m sorry,” was all he said, sounding as miserable as she felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Not your fault,” Sam said automatically, because a part of her remembered Bobby’s words about hunters and Men of Letters and she couldn’t help thinking that… This was her fault. They’d been friends, they’d been, hell, work partners.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Nothing more. Because… Sam was wrong, all wrong. She couldn’t change who or </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> she was and Dean didn’t want her. The first person she’d ever… He didn’t want her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean stared at her for a moment longer, but she couldn’t bring himself to return the gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Then he took a deep, shaky breath and started the car.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblrs:<br/>kassyscarlett<br/>womanoflettersinthebunker</p></blockquote></div></div>
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